Prodigal Son

Chapter 6

"Can I help you find what you need?"

Oliver fought for his patience and smiled even though that made the fourth offer of assistance in the last six minutes from the overeager staff of Bed, Bath and Beyond.

"No, I think I have it under control."

The worker went away and he went back to staring at sheets. It was a lie. He didn't have this under control, but he'd believed it the first, second, and even third time he'd rejected help and now he was in too deep. He didn't remember picking out sheets being this difficult in the past. Actually, he didn't remember picking out sheets, period. Before he'd left Starling City, beds always came made. At the resort where he'd worked after he left, he'd had to learn to make his bed, but it had at least come with bedding. His first real apartment, sparse as it had been, also came furnished. After he'd moved to a nicer place, he'd probably had an assistant buy them.

He rubbed his hand against his face. When he'd walked up ten minutes ago, he'd thought, just pick a color and be done. Now he was sorting through fabric types, thread counts, types of weave, and even a wrinkle free option. Did he want that? It sounded like a good thing but felt like a trap. Kind of unnatural. Ok, for the new place he bought a king size bed, so start there. What the hell was a California King? Why did California have its own bed? Maybe he should have stayed put at the motel.

"Need some help?"

He scowled at the young man in the hooded red sweatshirt. He wasn't sure if he was glad it was Roy Harper this time instead of one of the staffers. On the one hand, he was free to glare at Roy all he wanted, but on the other hand, as loath as he was to admit it, he needed help.

"I don't suppose you know what the difference between all this crap actually is."

Harper snorted looking at the set Oliver had pulled out to examine more closely. "I know you don't want satin sheets unless you're planning on opening up shop, Duce Bigalow."

"What's wrong with satin? They're very smooth." Not as smooth as Felicity's fine skin, but he wasn't sure even silk would match up.

"So smooth you'll slide right off. And they don't breathe. And like I said, any woman that sees them will think you get paid for sex or time traveled from the 1970's – where you got paid for sex. You want cotton, trust me on this."

Oliver put the sheets back.

"I can't believe I'm trusting you on any of this. Did you get everything moved in?"

"Yep. Grabbed just the boxes marked bedroom from the storage unit and stacked them in the spare room for you to sort. Handed the key over to Garcia. He knows he has until the end of the month to empty it out, take what he wants and chuck the rest. Oh and back at your place, before I was done bringing in boxes, the furniture from the rental place arrived."

"And the bed?" Even though renting a bed was essentially what he was doing at the motel, the idea of getting a mattress from a rental agency hadn't appealed. When he'd ordered a new mattress, it seemed easier to buy the whole bed with it.

"All put together. Your turndown service awaits just as soon as you stop dicking around and pick out your sheets."

Oliver tightly compressed his lips together. "To think, I could have left you to rot in Oregon."

"Nah, you couldn't be that cruel."

He'd known Roy Harper for a few years now. For a long time, Roy was his only real connection back to Starling City. Not that he'd known Roy before he'd left. The kid was only a little older than his sister and their paths wouldn't have crossed unless he'd been stealing his wallet, but like recognizes like. A few weeks after one of those TV news magazines rehashed Oliver's story in a "Where Are They Now" retrospective, Roy showed up fresh from the Glades, desperate for a chance to leave the past behind and restart his life like Oliver had his.